


The Case Of The Hammelburg Strangler

by BradyGirl_12



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, Historical, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Prison, Prisoner of War, Serial Killers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-05-08 01:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5478098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BradyGirl_12/pseuds/BradyGirl_12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hogan and his men encounter the Hammelburg Strangler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Business As Usual

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Major character deaths; descriptions of strangulation  
> Spoilers: None  
> Original LJ Dates Of Completion: December 28, 2014, January 1, 5, 6, 13, November 11, 17, 25, December 2, 9, 15, 2015  
> Original LJ Dates Of Posting: December 20, 27, 2015, January 5, 22, 28, February 2, 12, 23, March 3, 13, April 5, May 7, 2016  
> Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, Paramount does, more’s the pity.  
> Original LJ Word Count: 874 + 1871 + 2010 + 1571 + 1065 + 1704 + 1433 + 1268 + 1412 + 1223 + 1468 + 1112 (Total: 17,011)  
> Feedback welcome and appreciated.  
> Author’s Notes: This one took me awhile as I hit a major logjam so it lay untouched in my notebook for 11 months until the Muses cooperated. Please heed the warnings!  
> 

_“Business as usual is still business.”_

  


**Harold Fordham**  
**American Magnate**  
**1922 C.E.**

“I don’t believe it,” Hogan said. He felt numb.

“I know. I couldn’t believe it, either,” said Kinch. He removed his headphones.

“Alicia’s dead.”

Kinch nodded. “Found in her apartment.”

“Was it the filthy Gestapo?” LeBeau spat. 

“Doubtful.” Kinch looked down at the pad he used for messages. Water trickled somewhere in the tunnel. “Karl thinks it was the Hammelburg Strangler.”

& & & & & &

Sometime later, upstairs in the main room of the barracks, the men discussed the bizarre situation. Newkirk asked, “Is Karl sure is was the Strangler?”

Kinch shrugged. “As sure as he can be. She was dead of strangulation, which could’ve been a jealous boyfriend or something like that, but Karl says the police think it’s the Strangler.”

“Good thing we’ve got an Underground man on the civilian police force,” Carter remarked as he sharpened a pencil with a penknife.

“The Gestapo doesn’t care about non-political murders.” Hogan propped his leg up on a chair as he leaned forward. “As unfortunate as it is to lose Alicia, it’s doubtful our operation is in jeopardy.” He looked tired. “Sorry to sound so callous.”

“We understand, Colonel,” Newkirk said, lighting a cigarette.

“How many victims have there been?” LeBeau asked as he stirred a pot of stew on the stove.

“Three in the last two months,” Kinch answered.

“Yikes,” Carter said as he paused in his task. A tiny little pile of shavings littered the wooden table. “I bet they’re nervous in town.” 

“Same type of woman?” asked Newkirk.

“Yeah.” Kinch sipped his coffee. “All blond, early-to-mid-twenties, and extremely pretty.”

“The usual type.” Newkirk squinted as he blew out a ring of smoke.

“Yeah.” Hogan sighed. “Well, Karl will take care of things on his end. We have to plan our next operation.”

& & & & & &

Hogan sauntered across the compound. “Hi, Schultz, is Ol’ Blood-And-Guts in?”

The rotund guard chuckled. “No, he’s still asleep.”

“At this hour?” Hogan checked his watch.

“When you spend the night romancing a handsome widow, you do not get up when the cock crows.”

“Hmph. Who’s the widow?” Hogan fell into step with Schultz as the guard walked across the compound.

 _“Frau_ Schindler. She is the new owner of _Hilda’s Hofbrau._ She has the name Hilda, too.”

“Good business. Well, at least he isn’t spending the night dancing with Lily Frankel.”

“She disappeared last year.” Schultz leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do you think Klink drove her to defect?”

Hogan smirked. “Either that or Hochstetter stepping on her toes did it.”

Schultz laughed. _“Ja._ Now, Colonel, what is your business with the _Kommandant?”_

“Oh, just heard that a big shot was coming and wanted to offer LeBeau’s services.”

“Uh huh. Check back later. The _Kommandant_ should be up by lunchtime.”

“Boy, the life of Riley.”

“Who?” 

“Sorry, Schmidt?” Hogan laughed as he joined his men by the barracks. Newkirk and Kinch were tossing a baseball back and forth.

“Wot, Klink ain’t receivin’ this mornin’?” Newkirk deftly caught the ball in his catcher’s mitt and tossed it back to Kinch.

“He’s still asleep.”

“Huh, the Life of Freneau,” LeBeau huffed.

“Got a new Lily Frankel on the ‘ook?” Newkirk cracked.

“No, _Frau_ Schindler of the _Hofbrau._ Seems Klink is sweet on the new owner.”

 _“Frau?_ She’s married?” Carter did some stretching exercises.

“Widow.”

“I will need to get into town for ingredients for that fancy dinner you want me to cook for,” LeBeau reminded Hogan.

“No worries. I can handle Klink.” Hogan caught the ball and threw it back to Kinch.

& & & & & &

“Is Mr. Big in?” Hogan asked Helga as he breezed into the outer office.

The pretty German woman smiled. “Yes, he is.”

“Thank you.”

Hogan walked in unannounced. “Good morning, _Kommandant.”_

Klink knew that was a verbal jab as it was now one o’clock but was feeling too good to care. “What do you want on this fine day, Colonel Hogan?” 

“Well, sir, I’m here to offer the services of Corporal LeBeau for that dinner you’re planning.”

“How very generous of you, Colonel.”

Hogan smirked. He knew that Klink knew he wanted something in return. “How about two extra sheets of writing paper per man, an extra hour of electricity and white bread for a week?” 

“One sheet of extra writing paper, a half-hour of electricity, and no white bread.”

“Writing paper, forty-five minutes of electricity, and four days of white bread.”

“Done!” Klink slapped the ledger he was working on. “And you may have permission for LeBeau to shop for ingredients in town. Schultz will accompany him.”

“Thank you, _Kommandant.”_ Hogan saluted and left the office.

He winked at Helga on his way out and stood on the small porch for a minute.

_Well, that was easy. I’ve got Klink trained right. Better get things in motion so that LeBeau can get the documents to the Underground._

The paratrooper who had been brought into camp had delivered important documents from London for the Underground. He had been smuggled out in Schnitzer’s dog truck two nights ago and now it was up to Hogan and his men to complete the mission. LeBeau going to town would be the easiest way.

Hogan whistled jauntily as he headed for Barracks 2.


	2. Tomato Sauce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner given by Klink helps the Heroes with their next mission.

_"A good meal is worth its weight in vegetables."_

  


**Julia Parente**  
**"The Art Of Cooking"**  
**1927 C.E.**

LeBeau checked the produce in the greengrocer’s shop. He had to admit that the local farmers were doing a good job. Even in wartime they were managing plentiful harvests.

“Hello, Max.”

“Hello. What can I do for you today?”

“My poodle’s name is Fifi. She loves apples.”

“My schnauzer’s name is Fritz. He loves apples, too.”

LeBeau rolled his eyes. “The codes get sillier every day.”

Max, a wizened man with a sense of humor, chuckled and picked up a large beefsteak tomato and handed it to LeBeau.

“Excellent quality,” LeBeau approved. He put it in his bag. “Here, take a look at what I have chosen so far.”

Max took the canvas bag, removed the documents behind the counter, and returned the bag to LeBeau.

The tiny bells jingled over the door as two middle-aged women entered the shop. They chatted and LeBeau checked over the apples. He started to drop them into his bag.

“Maidie said he was impossible,” said the rotund woman with the green feather in her hat.

“He really is a _dummkopf.”_ The thinner woman shook her head. “He ought to be in the army.”

_“Ach,_ he has a bad heart. He works as a bookkeeper at the munitions factory over in Flenzheim.” 

“He is still a _dummkopf.”_

They walked around, picking out ripe tomatoes and turnips when a well-dressed gentleman entered, spectacles perched on his hawkish nose. “Greta, Magda, how are you?” He removed his homburg.

“Fine, George,” said Greta, her green feather bobbing. “How are you?”

“Fine, fine. All is well at the bank.” He shook his head. “My cousin Ludwig works at the police station, you know, and says there’s been another murder.” 

_“Ach,_ no!” said Magda, putting a hand to her mouth.

 _“Ja.”_ George waved his hat. He wore a tan overcoat and looked worried. “There was another murder just a few days ago!”

“Terrible!” Greta opined. 

LeBeau was not certain if she was genuinely upset or eager to hear more. _Maybe it’s a little of both._ He had little use for silly _hausfraus,_ but at least the gossip was interesting.

“Another young girl,” Magda said sadly.

 _“Ja,”_ George said with regret in his voice. “It was a secretary, very respectable, found in the alley behind _Mueller’s Bakery._ I tell you, Hans Mueller got the shock of his life when he was bringing the trash out to the dumpster in back and saw the poor girl behind a trash can.” 

Schultz had been studying the apples and glancing toward Max, trying to find the right moment to steal one when he shook his head. “A bad thing, these murders.”

LeBeau was no fan of Germans but even he felt sorry for the victims. “Let us hope the local police can solve this crime quickly, eh?”

 _“Ja.”_ Schultz grabbed a shiny red apple and took a big bite.

& & & & & &

LeBeau and Schultz returned to camp with the fixings for a grand meal. Klink was so pleased that he allowed LeBeau to take a portion of the food for the barracks, so soon the wonderful smell of bubbling tomato sauce filled the barracks. He had given some of the produce to the other barracks and now Garlotti was making suggestions for the sauce.

“Where’d you get the oregano?”

“Schultz. He got it from the mess hall. Their cook does not use it much.”

Garlotti sighed. “I agree with Major Bonicelli. German cooking is _not_ as good as Italian.”

“Even as a Frenchman, I agree with you. _Wiener schnitzel_ and potato pancakes… _mon Dieu!”_

The men listening to this exchange chuckled, though Carter piped up, “I _like_ potato pancakes!” 

“Shut up, Carter,” LeBeau sniffed.

Kinch was sitting across the table from Carter and grinned. Patting his hand, he told the sergeant, “It’s okay, Andrew. They’d probably turn up their noses at grits.”

“I never had grits.” Carter began rambling about grits and other things in his usual way and the other men exchanged fond looks.

“You should try good English cookin’, mate,” Newkirk drawled as he drifted over with a coffee mug in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

LeBeau snorted. “Says the man whose people think that something called bubble ‘n’ squeak is _haute cuisine.”_

“’Ere now, English cookin’ sticks to the ribs.” Newkirk lightly pounded his own side with a fist.

“That is one way of putting it.”

“Mmm, smells great, Louis.” Hogan came out of his office and peeked into the pot.

“Thank you, _mon Colonel.”_

Hogan took a seat at the table. “The document transfer was successful, so we might as well see if there’s any nuggets of information we can mine tomorrow night at dinner. Newkirk, you’ll be the waiter. Keep your ears open.” 

“Right, sir. Who’s Klink butterin’ up this time?”

“Um, some munitions bigshot. Kinch?”

Kinch smoothly took up the narrative. He had been listening in to Klink’s telephone calls. _“Herr_ Martin Burger, a big man in the weapons business.”

“Hmm, ol’ Burger might give us some tidbits of information. If not, at least we got some fresh veggies out of the deal.”

The men laughed and LeBeau announced, “Dinner is served, gentlemen.”

Everyone eagerly sat down as LeBeau ladled out the tomato sauce over fresh vegetables.

“Mmm, LeBeau, my pop back home at the pizza parlor would hire you in a Newark minute,” Garlotti said.

“I thought it was a New York minute?” Hogan asked in amusement.

“I’m from Jersey, not New York.”

“Well, that explains it.”

More laughter rolled around the barracks as the men enjoyed their meal.

& & & & & &

“An excellent meal, my dear Klink.”

“Thank you, _Herr_ Burger.” Klink set his napkin down. “The Frenchman LeBeau is quite a good cook.”

“My compliments to him." Martin Burger was a man with a round face, thinning brown hair and broad shoulders. His suit was expensive and he wore a blue-and-white patterned tie. His high-quality gold wristwatch gleamed as he reached for his wineglass. His brown eyes looked lazy, but Newkirk could see that this man missed nothing. 

“What do you think, darling?” Burger asked the lovely brunette sitting to his left.

“My compliments, too.” She fingered the string of pearls she wore.

“How are you enjoying your stay here in Hammelburg?” asked Klink.

“Restful. Anna and I are used to the bustle of Berlin.”

“Of course.” Klink signaled Newkirk for more wine. The Englishman complied. “I know that Hammelburg is rather quiet. I grew up here and it has not changed all that much, even with the war.”

“I have been here years ago.”

“Oh?”

Newkirk finished pouring the wine and retreated, his gaze lingering on Burger’s girlfriend. _A fine-lookin’ bird._

“Yes, I was here the summer before the war. The last war, that is. I had just finished studying at the University of Heidelberg and was visiting my aunt and uncle before starting work in the family business in the fall.” He winked. “I was courting a young _fraulein_ at the time.”

“Ah.” Klink chuckled. “I was home that summer, too. Just graduated from flight school and was waiting for my orders to report to base. Ah, such happy times before August and the first declaration of war!”

 _The first one you buggers started this century._ Newkirk kept his expression neutral. Unlike LeBeau, he could hide his feelings. _All that music hall experience,_ he thought smugly. He took a furtive sip of wine. Somehow it was hard to envision Klink as a young man.

“There has been excitement in town,” Anna remarked as she sipped her wine.

Newkirk moved to clear away the dishes to prepare for dessert.

“Oh?” Klink put his silverware on his Meissen plate. Newkirk picked it up.

“Yes, three young women killed recently?” Burger asked.

“Ah, yes, they are calling the killer the Hammelburg Strangler.”

“Hmm, quite so.” Burger frowned. “The name…well, I have talked to the police chief and he says there is a scarlet ribbon attached to each victim. Cheap stuff, but always pinned to the shirts.”

“Interesting.” 

Newkirk entered the kitchen. Schultz was happily eating a plate of duck _l’orange_ and assorted fresh vegetables as he drank wine. An opened bottle was set close to his elbow.

“You’re a big ‘it, Louis.”

“But of course.”

Newkirk exchanged exasperated looks with Schultz, who continued eating. Newkirk could not blame him. His stomach rumbled.

LeBeau handed him a wing. _“Bon appetit.”_

“Thanks.” Newkirk enjoyed the sample. “You’re still at the top your game, _mon ami.”_

LeBeau rolled his eyes at his friend’s terrible French accent. “What are they talking about?”

“The murders. Apparently Burger is tight with Hammelburg’s police chief. The Strangler leaves a red ribbon pinned to each victim’s blouse.” He finished the crisp wing and washed his hands under the tap. 

“Pretty creepy, if you ask me.”

“The whole mess is creepy.”

“I agree,” Schultz said after washing down his food with wine. “Bad business.”

“You are right, Schultzy.” LeBeau opened the icebox and took out a chocolate cake with elaborate vanilla frosting and pink rosettes. Both Newkirk and Schultz looked at the confection avidly. “Put your eyes back in your heads. This cake is for the guests.”

Both men sighed. Newkirk took out dessert plates, handling them carefully. He knew quality china when he saw it.

Newkirk went back into the parlor and set the dessert plates, received orders for coffee, and brought out the cups. Next he brought out the cake to appreciative oohs and ahhs. He deftly cut each diner a piece and Anna asked for a small slice.

“Where are you staying in town?” Klink asked Burger.

 _“The Grand Arms._ Fitting, _ja?”_

Klink chuckled. “Oh, _ja.”_

Newkirk placed the slice of cake on Anna’s plate. He restrained from rolling his eyes. Klink was a master of kissing up.

“That is a fine hotel,” Klink continued.

“It will do.” Burger sipped his coffee.

“Ah, yes. Well, I have heard that the cuisine at the restaurant is good.”

“Passable. They should employ your cook.”

Klink thought he meant his mess hall cook, but realized that Burger meant LeBeau. “Ah, yes, well, but of course that is impossible.”

“It was a _joke,_ Klink.”

Newkirk thought Klink was a simpering fool, but he could not help a stab of annoyance at Burger’s condescending tone. Even kiss-ups like Klink had feelings.

“A fine meal, Colonel,” Anna said. She sounded sincere.

“Thank you, _Fraulein.”_

Newkirk went into the kitchen. They had learned nothing useful from this dinner but not every situation worked out. And he and LeBeau could snitch some leftovers to bring back to the barracks. At least it had been a low-stress evening.

He felt a little shiver run down his spine. It had been an uneventful evening, but as his old granny was fond of saying, those were the times you should watch out.


	3. The Stars Are Bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hammelburg Strangler hits close to home.

  
_The stars are bright,_  
_Every night,_  
_Until the time_  
_When they disappear_  
_Without a tear._  


  


**Elise Gottfried**  
**"My Broken Heart**  
**And Other Poems**  
**Of The Great War"**  
**1919 C.E.**

After the January thaw, winter came back with a vengeance. A blizzard blanketed the camp with two feet of snow. The guards shoveled out paths to their barracks and other buildings while the prisoners were put to work shoveling paths from their barracks to the main compound.

Hogan pitched in. He liked being out in the fresh air, cold as it was. The barracks were not exactly toasty warm, anyway. He and his men were making good progress. They should be finished soon.

The barracks door opened and Kinch came out. He carried a shovel and went over to Hogan.

“London says that they lost a bomber in the Dusseldorf raid. We might be getting visitors.”

“In this snow?”

“It’ll be tough, but we’re the closest _stalag.”_

“We’re a full-service station, oil change and everything.” Kinch’s smile pleased Hogan. He still had the old Hogan touch when it came to quips. “Okay, we’ll send out a patrol tonight.”

“Better wear snowshoes.”

This time Hogan laughed. He and Kinch bent to their work.

& & & & & &

LeBeau gestured silently to Newkirk as their boots crunched on a small path. They had struggled through high snowdrifts all night and were worn out.

“’Ere now, we ought to go back.” Newkirk zipped his parka up higher.

“I agree, but we had better look around a little more. The Colonel will not be happy if we don’t find the fliers.” LeBeau smiled fondly at his companion. If Newkirk was not complaining about something, he would not be Newkirk. “Come on, _mon ami,_ just a little while longer.”

“All right, ten minutes, then we go back.”

LeBeau agreed. He had no desire to stay out in the cold much longer, either. He led the way deeper into the woods.

A low whistle caught his attention. He listened carefully. Newkirk heard it, too.

LeBeau answered the whistle with one of his own. The familiar figure of Karl Mueller emerged from behind a tree.

“What have you got for us?” LeBeau asked.

“A late Christmas present for Papa Bear.” Karl gestured and six men emerged from the woods. LeBeau and Newkirk recognized the look of controlled wariness and fear in their eyes. All men who dropped out of the sky and found themselves surrounded by the enemy wanted to get out as their first instinct.

 _There are days when it’s still my first instinct,_ LeBeau thought wryly.

“Papa Bear accepts the gift.” LeBeau looked at a blond American in the forefront with major’s bars. “You in charge?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Goldilocks, come with us. Papa Bear has some questions for you.”

“Ja.”

The fliers looked nervous at the German word but followed LeBeau and Newkirk without trouble. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt so they kept up a good pace.

They reached the tree stump that hid the tunnel entrance and LeBeau lifted the lid. The whole procession climbed down the ladder.

“Wow!” said a kid who looked like he might start shaving next week for the first time. “What a set-up!”

“First-class all the way, mate,” said Newkirk cheerfully.

The fliers began to relax as they realized that they were safe, at least for now. Newkirk provided coffee and Hogan and Kinch arrived from upstairs.

“Welcome, gentlemen. I’m Colonel Robert Hogan and this is LeBeau, Newkirk and Kinch.”

The blond major introduced himself as Tom Davis and introduced the rest of his men.

“Well, men, you’ll have to camp out here for awhile. The latest storm has caused a few problems.”

“Whatever you say, Colonel. We’re just tourists here,” Davis quipped.

His men and the Heroes chuckled. Hogan put his hand on Karl’s shoulder. “We need to talk.”

Hogan led the Underground agent to the communications center. Kinch sat down behind the radio.

“I need to find out if you’ve heard from Erika?” Hogan asked.

Karl ran a hand through his brown hair. “Not recently. Was she supposed to get in touch?”

“We were supposed to receive a message from her yesterday. She’s working the Heidelburg thing.”

“All right, we will see if she can reply to our frequency and let you know.”

“What’s going on in town?”

Karl shrugged. “Not much except for the Strangler murders.”

“No clues on that?” Hogan leaned against the table as he crossed his arms.

“So far nothing. The whole town is on edge. The war is bad enough, but now this series of murders has everyone scared of their own shadows.”

“Understandable.”

 _“Ja.”_ Karl shrugged. “We are extra careful, especially our female operatives. Though during the last time, a few men were victims, too?”

Hogan frowned. “What do you mean, ‘the last time’?”

“Several years ago similar murders were committed.” Karl drank his coffee.

Hogan and Kinch exchanged looks. “Complete with the red ribbon?” Hogan asked.

Surprise showed on Karl’s face. “How did you know that? The police have not given out any details.”

“Klink’s dinner guest a few nights ago spilled the beans. Apparently he’s palsy-walsy with the police chief.”

Karl frowned. “Chief Langenscheidt is not going to like this. That is confidential.” 

“Yeah, well, then he shouldn’t be yakking to every bigwig that cozies up to him.” At Karl’s confused look, Hogan smiled. “Sorry, guess I threw a few too many collaquialisms at you. I just meant that the chief shouldn’t give confidential intel to anyone if he wants to keep it a secret.”

“Ah.” Karl took another gulp of coffee. “It is odd that the murders should start up again.”

“So they never caught the killer years ago?”

Karl shook his head. _“Nein._ The murders stopped just as the Great War started.”

“That long ago?” Kinch asked in surprise.

 _“Ja._ Our man in the police station told me that they have kicked around the idea that this is a copycat. They think it because the first string of murders was twenty-nine years ago.”

“So men who commit a series of murders don’t lay low and then take it up again years later?” Hogan asked.

“It is possible, but Marcus thinks it could be a relative or someone who merely studied the cases.”

“Creepy.” Kinch shivered.

 _“Ja.”_ Karl finished his coffee. “They think the killer might have died in the Great War, and someone has taken up the mantle.”

“Well, let’s hope they find this guy quick, original or copy,” said Hogan.

“Amen to that, Colonel.”

& & & & & &

Hogan breezed into the outer office. "Mr. Big in?”

Helga laughed. “Yes, Colonel.”

Hogan reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sheer pair of nylons.

“Ah, _danke,_ Colonel.” Helga took the nylons. “I will wear them on my date tonight.”

“Oh? Is your young man on leave?”

She nodded. “Peter is back from Italy.”

“Have a good time, honey.”

“Thank you, Colonel.”

& & & & & &

Hogan knocked and went inside. Klink was busy with paperwork.

“Go away, Hogan, I have no time for you.”

“But, sir, I just wanted to know if you’ll be hosting _Herr_ Burger again.”

“No. As a matter of fact, he has invited me into town at the _Grand Arms Hotel.”_

“Pretty swanky, sir.”

“Mmm hmm.” Klink scribbled something on a form. “You may go now, Hogan. Dismissed.”

Helga came in with a form that she needed signed right away.

“Going to dance the night away at _The Hofbrau_ tonight, _Kommandant?”_ Hogan asked cheerfully.

“No, going to bed early.” Klink looked up. “Hogan, why are you still here? Dismissed!”

Hogan returned Klink’s salute and left with Helga. He gave her a kiss and said, “Have a good time tonight.” He winked as he left the office.

& & & & & &

“Lieutenant, you have been taking dancing lessons.” Helga felt very pretty and fashionable in her new nylons on the dance floor.

“I have?” Peter Mueller beamed. “Am I that much better?”

“If I did not know better, I would say Madame LaGrange had taught you.”

“Who is she?”

“A Frenchman of many talents.”

Of course then she had to explain about LeBeau posing as Madame LaGrange to teach Major Hochstetter how to dance. They laughed at the image of LeBeau and Hochstetter dancing in the cooler.

They returned to their table and enjoyed frosty beers and _wiener schnitzel_ with Flenzheim potatoes. Helga and Peter talked about things that young lovers do, and just as they contemplated dessert, Hilda Schindler called Peter to the telephone. When he returned, he began apologizing.

“I am sorry, _leipchin,_ but I have to leave. My cousin is staying with us and she has taken ill. I have to meet my parents at the hospital.”

“I will go with you.”

 _“Nein,_ it is going to be a long night and you have work tomorrow. Stay and have another beer, then go home.” Peter handed her some money. “I will call you tomorrow.” He leaned down and kissed her.

After Peter had gone, Helga went to the bar and sat down. “Here is our payment, Hilda.”

 _“Danke,_ Helga.” Hilda drew two beers from the tap. “Where is your charming boss tonight? I wished to speak with him. I have been very busy.”

_Charming? Oh, Hilda, you **must** be hard up!_

Loyalty to her boss caused her to say only, “He called it an early night.”

“Ah, well. I will see him soon, _ja?”_

“Oh, I am sure.” _Colonel Klink would never let a beautiful woman who finds him ‘charming’ get away, have no fear._

“Your young man is quite handsome.”

 _“Danke.”_ Helga smiled proudly.

“Hold on to that one.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Helga chatted with the older woman as Hilda worked behind the bar. Gradually she became tired and bade Hilda good night.

Stepping outside the noisy tavern, she took a breath of fresh air. It was a moonless night but the sky was clear and stars twinkled to make a pretty picture as Helga began walking home. Her family’s cottage was only ten minutes away, nestled on the outskirts of Hammelburg in the woods.

The scent of snow-dusted evergreens was like home to her. The family cottage was surrounded by tall trees of spruce, pine, and evergreen. They shaded the house in the summer and made a charming picture in the winter.

She paused as she heard a branch crack. Looking over her shoulder nervously, she chided herself. The Hammelburg Strangler hunted for his victims in town, not out here in the sticks.

She entered the lane that led to her house and the dwellings of a few neighbors. It was blessedly quiet after the noise of Hilda’s Hofbrau. That was one thing she liked about her job at Stalag 13. It was mostly quiet except when Hogan and his men stirred up shenanigans.

She smiled as she thought of Hogan: handsome, charming, and a good kisser.

_Pity he’s a…_

This time she was certain that someone was behind her. Before she could react, steel-hard arms clamped around her chest and neck. A gloved hand sealed her mouth shut as she tried to scream.

“Ah, my pretty whore,” her attacker whispered in her ear as she kicked and struggled. “So sweet.”

Terror nearly blinded her as she thrashed, but his grip was unyielding. He moved his other hand up and began to squeeze her neck.

Helga let out a half-strangled sob as she fought to breathe. The smell of leather from the gloves was strong. If only she could kick back…she thrust back hard and pushed him off-balance. His grip loosened and for one giddy moment, she was free.

He grabbed her again, knocking the back of her head and taking advantage of her disorientation to wrap his hands around her neck. She cried out but he cut her off as maniacal strength began to squeeze.

Her limbs began to grow rubbery as her oxygen was slowly cut off. She whimpered as tiny pinpricks of light danced before her eyes, mingling with the stars.

Her last thought before darkness swallowed up the stars was of her beloved Peter.


	4. Faded Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detectives assigned to the case of the Hammelburg Strangler sort through evidence.

  
_Dust and ink_  
_Faded and_  
_Paper yellowed_  
_And curling,_  
_Holds the_  
_Knowledge_  
_Of the past_  
_And whispers_  
_To the_  
_Future._  


  


**Rose Dorsett**  
**"History’s Mists"**  
**1914 C.E.**

Hogan entered the outer office and the pretty blond secretary looked up from her paperwork.

It still jarred him to see Hilda at that desk now. A pall had hung over camp for days after learning that Helga’s body had been discovered in the woods only yards from her house. The Hammelburg Strangler had claimed another victim, one of their own.

Helga had been popular in camp, and not just because she was a pretty woman. She was sweet and treated everyone the same, whether soldier or prisoner. Whenever a man had gotten fresh with her, either soldier or prisoner would help, even if it was a fellow comrade. She had also helped out Hogan and his men when she could, though of course that part was not common knowledge. 

This replacement was Helga’s cousin, pretty and blond and amenable to Hogan’s attentions. Whether or not she would do them favors remained to be seen. 

Hogan swallowed. “Hi, Hilda. The big man in?”

 _“Ja._ He is talking with General Burkhalter.”

He knew that, of course. “Thanks.” He headed for the inner office.

Opening the door, he heard Burkhalter chewing Klink out. He had no idea why. Sometimes he thought that the corpulent general just liked to make Klink’s life miserable.

“Sorry to disturb you, Kommandant.”

“Hogan, get out.”

“But, sir…”

“Out! Schultz!” 

The sergeant hurried inside from the compound. “Yes, _Herr Kommandant?”_

“Take the colonel back to his barracks.”

Schultz saluted. _“Jawhol, Herr Kommandant.”_ He quickly hustled Hogan out. 

“Where’s the fire, Schultz?”

“Right in there. Colonel Hogan, you know better.”

“Sorry, Schultz.” Hogan smiled at Hilda, though his heart was not in it.

Once outside, Schultz sighed. “Hilda is a nice girl, but I miss Helga.”

“So do I.” Hogan stared out at the barbed wire into the woods. “Any word in town about the investigation?”

Schultz shook his head. “Just that the Burgermeister is putting pressure on Chief Langensheidt.”

“Is he related to our corporal of the same name?” 

_“Ja,_ his uncle.” Schultz sighed again. “Bad business, very bad business.”

Hogan agreed with that assessment.

& & & & & &

Detective K. Marcus Kringle stared down at his desk in frustration. The witness statements were meager: mostly that of the people who had stumbled upon the victims of the Hammelburg Strangler. No one had actually seen the murders committed or even a glimpse of the killer, except for one grocery delivery boy from Max Keller’s store. The boy had seen a shadowy figure leaving Anna Merkel’s apartment building early one morning. He had found Fraulein Merkel’s body soon after in her apartment.

Marcus was a rumpled, middle-aged man with pomade-slicked brown hair, hazel eyes, and a strong jaw. He was starting to get a little paunchy, probably due to too many strudels and not enough time to exercise. Crazy hours did not help, either. With so many of the force in the _Wehrmacht_ or _Luftwaffe,_ he and the few remaining policemen were working a lot of overtime. 

_Good for the wallet, not so much for the diet._

He looked wryly at the strudel he had grabbed for breakfast and read through the boy’s description: a man in a dark raincoat and homburg, maybe six feet tall, perhaps a few inches more, and good shoes. Unfortunately, that was all the boy could tell them.

_Well, that’s more than anyone else._

He looked down at his notes. The killer always struck at night, though the Merkel killing had some close to daytime. If it had been the killer. It could have been a man hurrying away from an assignation. The coroner said that Anna Merkel had been dead for at least two hours by seven o’clock.

_Unlikely he would have hung around._

He still kept the description in mind. Killers with multiple kills usually kept to a routine, but sometimes circumstances forced them to change it.

All the victims since last November had been women, and all were young and blond. All were found with a small red ribbon pinned to their blouses. None had been sexually assaulted.

_Unlike twenty-nine years ago when two men were killed along with four women._

He needed to go over those old cases again. Something was nagging at him.

“Hey, Marcus, what is your plan for today?” asked Johann Schingelheimer as he walked into the squadroom, a fellow detective and his partner. He was shorter than Marcus but dressed sharper and was in better shape. Marcus still liked him, anyway. Johann was a blond, blue-eyed Aryan who nevertheless had never joined the Party. For that alone Marcus liked him.

“I think I will spend some time in the archives.”

“Dusty old place.”

Marcus smiled as Johann flicked an imaginary speck of dust off his suit jacket sleeve. Fastidious as always! He stood out in this dark, old nineteenth-century building with its worn floors and old wooden desks.

“Do you need some help down there?” Johann asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

“I could.”

“All right. I will join you in a minute.”

Marcus headed down to the basement, switching on a bare bulb by its chain. He turned on a few more lights and found the section he wanted. He started poring through the files.

The trouble with old files was the acidic paper. It faded the ink and mold was a problem, too. He coughed as he searched through the papers, careful not to tear them.

He became absorbed in Hammerlburg’s past when Johann appeared. “Where do you want me to look?”

“This stack.” Marcus handed a stack of papers over to his colleague. Johann sneezed. “Check the summer of 1914.”

“Right.” Johann found a small table and began his search.

The two men quietly studied the files until Johann said, “Found the first one.”

“Read it aloud.”

_“’June 5, 1914. the body of Elsa Schmidt was found in the alley behind **Mueller’s Bakery** at 5:25 A.M. by the trash man, Rudolf Heinz, who reported it immediately. **Fraulein** Schmidt was the victim of strangulation.’”_

“Did they mention the red ribbon?”

“No, they…wait, it was added as a note at the bottom.”

“Yes, they realized that the ribbon was significant after other bodies turned up with it.”

“What significance does it have?”

“Might be just a reverse trophy.”

“I suppose so.” Johann frowned. “The detective who wrote the report did mention a patch of hair missing.”

“Just like our victims.”

Johann nodded. “No other similarities, aside from female, blond, and blue-eyed.”

“Remember the two men who were strangled.”

“They came later, I think.”

“Let me know their details.”

“Right.”

“Wait, did you say the first body was found behind _Mueller’s Bakery?”_

_“Ja.”_

“Just like one of our victims.”

“Could be coincidence.”

“I suppose.”

Johann bit his lip. “Marcus…”

“What?”

“The boyfriend of our latest victim, Helga Heidel, is the son of the couple who owns that bakery.”

“Hmm.” Marcus rubbed his chin.

“Do you think there might be a connection?”

“You never know. Sometimes it means something. Other times it is just coincidence.”

The two detectives kept looking. Finally Johann summarized, “Six murders from June 6th to July 31st, 1914. The first four were women and the last two were men. No other murders fitting the _modus operandi_ were committed in Hammelburg, or anywhere else, for that matter, until last November.”

“Do we have a killer who took a 29-year hiatus, or a copycat?”

“I would go with copycat. Why would a killer wait so long between sprees?”

“Something could have triggered him.”

Johann pushed the papers around. “Wait, here is something interesting.”

“What?” Marcus stretched. The back of his neck and shoulders were killing him.

“One of the victims was Gertrude Axel. She was a niece of Oskar and Frieda Marx, whose nephew Martin Burger was visiting that summer.”

“Martin Burger? Why is he in that report?”

“They interviewed him along with his aunt and uncle.”

Marcus ran a hand through his hair. “Now Martin Burger is the _Fuehrer’s_ right-hand munitions man.”

“He is also in town.”

 _“Ja.”_ Marcus drummed his fingers on a shelf. “The paper said he is sticking around awhile. Some high-priority mission from the _Fuehrer.”_

Johann shuffled the reports. “What kind of mission?” 

“Top-secret.”

Johann sighed. “Of course.”

“We had better re-interview the Muellers and their son Peter.”

“Do you think Peter Mueller killed Helga?” Johann put the files away.

“It is always a possibility. Jealousy is the usual motive, but the red ribbon counters that. That detail is not common knowledge.”

“Are you sure?”

Marcus swore. “Our illustrious police chief blabbed it to Burger, of all people!”

Marcus remembered Karl Mueller (no relation to Peter and his family) telling him that Hogan and his men overheard Burger telling Klink about the ribbon. Johann had been recruited by Marcus into their Underground unit. The other man was in his early thirties, prime age for service, but deafness in his right ear had classified him 4-F, but both knew as the war ground on, that classification would change. For now, Johann continued serving as a detective.

“So maybe Peter Mueller knew it and added the ribbon.”

“It is a possibility. You re-interview the Muellers. I will see to _Herr_ Burger.”

They replaced the files and left the archives as a light snow began to fall outside.


	5. Hilda's Hofbrau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hammelburg Strangler strikes again.

_“Go out, have fun, and enjoy Hammelburg’s hospitality.”_

  


**Burgermeister**   
**Erich Hammler**   
**January 16, 1943**

_Hilda’s Hofbrau_ was noisy and crowded. Hogan threaded his way through the tables and dancing couples. He glanced around and wondered who his contact was in this madhouse.

He sat at a table close to the kitchen, affording him a view of the entire room. He smiled at Hilda, and she lifted a beer mug. He nodded and she brought a brimming mug over.

_“Danke.”_ Hogan sipped his beer as Hilda went off to take a new order. He rubbed his eyes and wished he was back in camp. He was tired, tired of missions, of the war, of losing lovely young women to stone-cold killers.

He rested his chin on his hand. He had been depressed since Helga’s death. Her replacement was a nice girl, but he missed Helga.

_Somehow the irony of people getting killed by a crazy strangler in the middle of a war doesn’t escape me._

He sighed. He could feel a headache starting. Hopefully this contact would approach him soon and he could go back to camp, curl up in his bunk and get some sleep. Until contact was made, he would nurse his beer. People-watching was a valuable thing to do in his line of work. The better you could read people, the better for your work as a spy.

Most of the tables were occupied by young couples but other tables contained small groups of soldiers on leave, middle-aged married couples, and even a family: mother, father, and two grown daughters enjoying an evening out.

He wondered how many people were fervent Nazis. Not even soldiers were automatic Party members. Did some of these people hate Nazism, but were keeping their heads down to stay out of trouble? Or did some of them like the pomp and circumstance and the military victories, not true believers but willing to reap the benefits? How many were Underground agents? He didn’t know everyone in the network. It was safer that way in event of capture. 

The door opened and a man entered, letting in a wave of cold air. The man quickly closed it and got his bearings as he looked around. Unremarkable in appearance (perfect for an agent), he was dressed like any other middle-class citizen of Hammelburg: good, solid winter coat, a fairly new homburg, and a suit that was beginning to enter the category of ‘seen better days’, but of course new clothing was hard to come by these days.

The man patted his brown hair and wended his way through the crowd. He casually approached Hogan’s table and asked, “It is very cold tonight. Might be snow.”

_“Ja,_ I can feel it in my bones.”

The other man smiled slightly and sat down. “The codes are getting craftier.”

“Or we’re getting punchier.”

The contact laughed, understanding the sentiment if not the collaquialism. He ordered a beer and laid his coat on an empty chair, sliding a folded piece of paper over to Hogan, who quickly put his beer on top of it as Hilda approached.

“Your beer, sir.”

_“Danke, Fraulein.”_

Hilda did not bother to correct him on the salutation. Instead she smiled and returned to the bar.

“The information is sound,” muttered the contact.

“Good.” Hogan sipped his beer.

His companion drained his mug and said, _“Danke_ for a pleasant chat, friend.”

Hogan nodded. He watched his contact leave and causally scanned the crowd. No one seemed interested in the agent’s departure or himself. Hogan relaxed slightly. He ordered another beer, nursed it for fifteen minutes, and then slowly finished it.

The jukebox was playing a cheerful tune and nearly covered the argument at the next table. A young blond woman stood up and said through gritted teeth, “Enough with your jealousy, Heinrich. _Ach,_ such a _dummkopf!”_ She grabbed her coat off the back of the chair and stormed out, leaving her annoyed boyfriend to finish his beer alone.

Hogan paid his bill and went outside, turning up the collar of his coat. It would be a half hour’s walk to camp but the exercise would do him good.

The German girl was several yards away, her anger giving her the energy to set a good pace. It was a nice, clear night with twinkling stars. Hogan began the turn toward camp when he heard a muffled scream. He whirled and saw no girl.

“Hey!” he shouted, running toward the last place he had seen her. _“Fraulein,_ you all right?”

A sobbing blond burst out of the woods, massaging her throat. “He tried to kill me!”

Hogan grabbed her by the shoulders. “Which way did he go?”

“That…that way!” 

Hogan followed her trembling finger as she pointed. Whoever the killer was, he was fast. Hogan could find no trace of him as he went into the woods.

He stumbled and saw something glint in the moonlight. He bent down and picked it up with his handkerchief.

_A watch._

It looked expensive. He slowly went back to the main road, too late realizing that people from _The Hofbrau_ had spilled out after hearing the girl’s screams. A soldier hurried over to Hogan.

“What have you got?”

“Possibly a clue.”

“Detective Kringle is on his way.”

Hogan recognized the name. Underground! “Is the girl all right?”

The blond soldier nodded. “She was lucky.”

“Aren’t we all?”

The police arrived in record time, their car parking in front of the tavern. Two men got out, and Hogan remembered that they had a second man on the force. The younger man interviewed the girl while his partner talked to Hogan.

“Thanks, this watch is our first break.”

“Yeah, I had a hard time seeing anything out there. Out in the woods I felt like Goldilocks trying to find Papa Bear’s house.”

Marcus lifted an eyebrow. _“Danke_ for your statement, _Herr_ Stromberg.” He glanced back at the crowd. “You may go, sir.”

Hogan nodded. He managed to disappear in the woods before anyone declared him a hero.

As he walked, he thought of the watch. It was good quality, and not something that a middle-class man could afford. That might give the detectives something to work with in this investigation.

_Too late for Helga, but at least other women like this one tonight might be safe._

He hurried toward the safety of Stalag 13.


	6. The Summer Of 1914

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus interviews Martin Burger.

  
_It was the last_  
_Golden summer,_  
_Before the guns_  
_Blazed_  
_And the blood_  
_Flowed,_  
_And a touch_  
_Of crimson_  
_Streaked the sky_  
_At violet dusk._  


**Edith Caldwell**  
**"Innocence Lost"**  
**1919 C.E.**

“You were very lucky, _mon Colonel.”_

Hogan shrugged on his bomber jacket and nodded. “Luckily the Gestapo doesn’t care about this case.” He picked up his uniform cap. “The regular police answered the call, and our men caught the case.”

“Let’s hope they catch this guy.” Kinch adjusted the radio’s dials.

“And soon.” LeBeau scrambled up the ladder.

“Colonel?”

“Yeah, Kinch?”

“Do you think they ever will?” At Hogan’s quizzical look, he added, “The killer?”

“Maybe.” Hogan put the cap on his head. “Maybe not. Except for tonight, this guy hasn’t made a misstep in twenty-nine years.”

“So you don’t think he’s a copycat?”

“No, and I have no proof, just a feeling.”

Hogan turned and went up the ladder, his mind already on the next mission.

& & & & & &

While Hogan and his men did their plotting, Marcus and Johann studied the watch that Hogan had found in the forest for clues.

“No personal engraving,” Johann said.

“But we do have the name of the watchmaker?”

His partner nodded. _“’Otto Strauss, 1914’.”_

“Hmm, we had better find out if Mr. Strauss is still in business.”

“The only watchmaker I have seen in town is not named Otto Strauss.”

 _“Ja,_ but there are other towns.” Marcus stood up from behind his desk. “We had better get those interviews done first.”

 _“Ja, ja.”_ Johann stood as well. “I will head over to _Muellers’ Bakery_ right now.”

 _“Gut.”_ Marcus pulled on his greatcoat. “I will see _Herr_ Martin Burger.”

The two detectives left the police station together, separating as they headed in different directions. Marcus enjoyed the walk in the cold air. It was not uncomfortable for a winter’s day. The cold, clear air was refreshing and helped order his thoughts.

On a day like this, he could almost forget the war. The town was replete with Tyrolean charm with its gingerbread architecture and snow-covered evergreen trees surrounding the place. People were polite and going about their business, though a few appeared strained.

_No doubt loved ones are off in the army._

Marcus had had his fill of war during the last one. He had done his duty in the trenches…he stopped walking and stared off toward the woods. Images flashed before him and he felt trapped, angry and fearful as the dark woods smelled of gunpowder and blood…

Shaking his head, he broke the spell and started walking again. He had learned to live with these little incidents over the years. It was just a thing a veteran had to endure. There would be many young men learning that sad fact soon. 

He arrived at the entrance to the _Grand Arms Hotel_ and went into the ornate lobby. Marble pillars and floors, Corinthian leather furniture and crystal chandeliers bespoke the finest hotel in town. A holdover from the days in the last century when there had been a thriving spa nearby, it was a little down-at-the-heels, but not so one would notice unless one looked closely. Marcus strode up to the desk.

The desk clerk glanced up and immediately could tell by Marcus’ clothes that he could not afford a room here. “Yes?” he asked in a clipped tone.

Marcus showed his badge. The prim clerk was even less amenable. “We have no need of house detective skills. We already employ a man for that.”

_Arrogant **dummkopf!**_

“I am here to see _Herr_ Martin Burger. Room number, _bitte.”_

The clerk was appalled. “Surely a fine gentleman like _Herr_ Burger…”

 _“Now,_ sir.”

The clerk blanched at the tone and hurriedly supplied Marcus with the number. Marcus was rather pleased at his imitation of a Gestapo officer. It definitely got things done.

 _“Danke,”_ he said coolly and took the elevator up to the top floor, nodding to the operator. Once disembarked, he strode down to Room 612 and knocked.

No answer. He knocked again, wondering if he should identify himself as police when a maid came out of the next room and started pushing a cleaning cart.

“May I help you, sir?”

 _“Ja,_ I wish to see _Herr_ Burger.”

“Ah, he and his wife are down in the restaurant.”

 _“Danke.”_ He did not bother to correct her assumption about Burger’s girlfriend. That was their own business.

As he rode the elevator back down to the first floor, he ground his teeth at the thought of the clerk. He could not prove it, but he was certain that the swine had deliberately omitted telling him that Burger was in the restaurant. 

He exited the elevator, glaring at the clerk, who quickly looked away. Satisfied with all the proof he needed, he sauntered toward the restaurant.

As with everything else in the _Grand Arms,_ the restaurant was elegant with marble pillars, red silk draperies, and sparkling cutlery. The _maitre d’_ suddenly appeared, reminding him of the desk clerk. Well, this one better watch out!

“Yes, sir?”

“I am here to see _Herr_ Burger.”

“He does not wish to be disturbed…”

Marcus flashed his badge. “I wish to see him _now.”_

The _maitre d’_ quickly escorted him to a prime table by the tall windows. He said, _“Herr_ Burger, a Detective K. Marcus Kringle from the police to see you, sir.”

 _“Danke,_ Wilhelm.”

The _maitre d’_ bowed and left. Marcus noted that Anna Braun was a brunette, not a blond. He smiled and said, “Thank you for seeing me, _Herr_ Burger.” He wanted to play charming with the big fish. He would not let the _dummkopfs_ take him off his game.

“Have a seat, Detective.”

 _“Danke.”_ He nodded to Anna Braun as he took his seat.

 _“Fraulein_ Anna Braun,” Burger introduced.

Marcus smiled. He had no wish to commit a _faux_ pas by addressing her incorrectly. Now he was supplied with the right way.

“How are you enjoying your stay in our little town?” he asked.

“Oh, fine, fine. Anna has found some interesting shops.”

“Ah, _gut.”_ That would keep the shopkeepers happy. “I read in the paper that you are doing top-secret work for the Fuehrer here?”

 _“Ja.”_ Burger sipped his glass of orange juice.

Marcus knew he would get nowhere with this line of questioning, which was fine by him. He started with the questions he was really interested in.

“I wanted to ask…”

The waiter appeared and Burger asked Marcus if he wanted anything. He ordered coffee and a sweet roll. Once the waiter had departed, he started again.

“Could you tell me what you remember of the Hammelburg Strangler case in 1914?”

Burger frowned as he cut a piece of pork sausage. “Why are you interested in 1914?”

“The Strangler was active then, too. Perhaps something you observed then could be useful now.”

Anna reached over and covered Burger’s hand with hers. “Please cooperate, Martin. Perhaps you can help.”

Martin Burger looked disgruntled but began to talk. “Ah, well, that summer was a long time ago. I had just completed my term at the University of Heidelberg and was enjoying one last summer of freedom before taking on my responsibilities in the family business. I stayed with my aunt and uncle.”

“I read a newspaper article in which you were interviewed. Your cousin Gertrude Axel was a victim.”

Regret shadowed Burger’s face. “Yes, Uncle Oskar and Aunt Frieda were very upset. Aunt Frieda was very close with her sister, who was Gertrude’s mother.”

“Did your cousin have a problem with a boyfriend, or was she being bothered by anybody else?”

Burger shook his head. “She was not dating at that time. She had suitors but was keeping them dangling.”

Marcus thought he heard disapproval in the businessman’s voice. “You were not fond of such a tactic?”

Burger shrugged. “Games are all right but only for a little while. I like my women more straightforward.” He smiled at Anna, who smiled back.

_Do you get impatient with coquettish women?_

“So Gertrude said nothing about being harassed by any of her disappointed suitors?” Marcus thanked the waiter who brought him his coffee and roll. 

Burger started to shake his head, and then paused. “She _did_ mention that she felt uncomfortable one night. I never got details from her.” 

_How convenient._

“Did any other young woman you know feel uncomfortable?”

“No.”

Marcus almost sighed. Whether or not Martin Burger was the Strangler, he was getting nowhere. He debated whether to ask Burger where he had been on the night of the aborted murder but that would tip off his hand. He would find another way. He took a bite of the vanilla-frosted sweet roll. It was excellent.

“I suppose there had been much talk that summer about the murders?”

“Yes, but rather subdued, actually. There was a lot of war talk going on and people were nervous about that, too.”

“I wonder why the Strangler changed from women to men? His last two victims were men,” he explained to a quizzical Anna.

“Perhaps they were witnesses?” Burger pondered.

 _Not a bad guess._

“Were they both blonds?” asked Anna.

“Yes.” _Smart girl._

“So he might have transferred his obsession to the men,” Burger observed.

“Possibly.” Burger took a long sip of coffee. It was high-quality stuff. He had not enjoyed such a fine cup of coffee in months. “Unfortunately, the police in 1917 were not able to solve the crimes, so we do not know.”

Anna glanced at Burger, who was concentrating on his eggs. “What about the latest attempt by the swine? Any clues?”

“I am afraid not.” The watch would remain confidential.

Conversation turned to trivial matters as Marcus enjoyed his coffee. When he was ready to take his leave, Burger asked, “By the way, what does the ‘K’ in your name stand for?”

Marcus smiled a little stiffly. “Kristopher.”

Burger smiled widely and Anna hid her smile with her napkin. Marcus bid them goodbye and muttered, “My parents had a strange sense of humor,” as he walked away.

As he left the dining room he shrugged on his coat. A little smile played around his lips.

Martin Burger had not been wearing a wristwatch.


	7. Churning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hochstetter does some investigating of the Hammelburg Strangler case while Marcus and Johann are discouraged.

_“When your legs are churning the water trying to keep afloat, you get tired.”_

  


**Sir Malcolm Woodbury**   
**English Hunter And Writer**   
**1922 C.E.**

Major Wolfgang Hochstetter was in a bad mood this morning. His investigation of the latest odd happenings at Stalag 13 had once again yielded nothing. Would that camp _ever_ not be a hotbed of traitors and saboteurs?

He slumped in his seat behind his desk. Sometimes it did just not pay to get out of bed in the morning.

_What the Fuehrer does not realize what I put up with for him!_

He wandered into the break room and picked up the paper, greeted by an editorial castigating the local police for their failure in solving the Hammelburg Strangler murders. It was not his official concern, of course, but as a person in law enforcement, he was professionally curious. He had kept up with the case, trying to come up with a solution, but none had come to him.

He perused the article as he sat down with a cup of coffee. He had been sorry to learn that one of the latest victims had been the pretty secretary at Stalag 13.

He sighed. Was the war not enough for this killer? Did he have to kill innocent young German women? He was disgusted by the whole mess.

Voices were coming down the hall. Hochstetter would have preferred peace and quiet but you learned things by listening. He put the paper down and pretended to be absorbed in the articles.

Two young men, one typically Aryan with blond hair and blue eyes while the other had brown hair and eyes, entered the break room. They took little notice of Hochstetter in the corner table.

_Mistake, young pups._

But it was not his place to school young Gestapo. They would learn soon enough.

The blond, Wexler by name, poured mugs of coffee for him and his companion Stoltz. “The incidents in The Tassel has made the gossip round.”

Stoltz snorted. “How to keep that a secret. Berlin can be a sieve at times.”

 _“Ja.”_ Wexler took a sip of his coffee. “Such decadence always makes the rounds.”

Stoltz frowned. “Why would someone want to put themselves in such danger? A nightclub like that with known deviants?”

Wexler shrugged. “Some people are just reckless.”

 _Like you two talking in front of someone,_ Hochstetter thought.

 _“Ja,_ I suppose so.”

Wexler took another sip. “Mannheim says there is talk about our little town.”

“The Hammelburg Strangler?”

Wexler nodded. “Apparently there is some buzz about our situation.”

“Not surprising. It is an unusual one.”

Wexler agreed. “To be fair, this killer leaves few clues. It must be difficult for the local police to make any progress.”

 _“Ja,_ they do not have our reputation for getting people to talk, eh?”

The men laughed and left the room. Hochstetter set aside the paper.

_Young fools. They have no sense of their surroundings. I could have overheard any number of secrets._

He noted the duo’s names again. He would not be assigning them sensitive cases any time soon! Instead he thought about the Hammelburg Strangler case.

_Maybe I can solve this case while performing other duties._

The thought appealed to him. He decided that a visit to _Stalag 13_ might be in order. Helga had been a victim. Perhaps a clue could be gleaned from a visit, and besides, there was always funny business going on in that accursed camp. Killing two birds with one stone, as the old saying went, would suit him just fine.

& & & & & &

“How nice to see you, Major!” Klink rose from his seat behind his desk.

“Bah, Klink, I am not here to listen to you simper.” Hochstetter waved the gloves he held in his hand. “I wish to know about your secretary?”

 _“Fraulein_ Hilda?”

 _“Nein,_ Helga.”

Sadness crossed Klink’s face. “She is…well, she became a victim of…”

“I know; I know.” Hochstetter waved impatiently. “Did she say anything unusual that day?”

Puzzled, Klink said, “Nothing out of the ordinary. May I ask why?” 

“You may not.” Hochstetter ignored Klink’s resigned expression. The man was a fool. He had no wish to explain himself to Klink, of all people. “I wish to speak to Sergeant Schultz.”

“Yes, sir.”

Klink called the guardhouse and the sergeant arrived, a bit apprehensive. “Yes, _Herr Major?”_

“Sergeant, I wish to ask you about _Fraulein Helga.”_ Schultz’s sadness impressed Hochstetter. Helga had obviously been well-liked. “Did she say anything unusual about her date that night at _Hilda’s Hofbrau?”_

 _“Nein,_ sir. She was very happy about meeting her boyfriend that night.”

“Hmm, all right, _danke,_ Sergeant.”

It had been a longshot, but Hochstetter had no urgent cases. Perhaps a little more detective work would suffice.

& & & & & &

“Why’s Hochstetter interested in poor Helga?” Newkirk asked.

“Good question,” Hogan said as Kinch shut off the coffeepot.

“It is never good to have the Gestapo sniffing around,” said LeBeau.

“That’s an understatement,” Newkirk agreed.

“Hopefully it’s just Hochstetter on a fishing expedition.” Hogan readjusted his cap. “We have a mission to prepare for. LeBeau, Newkirk, let’s get started.”

& & & & & &

Marcus entered the warmth of _Hilda’s Hofbrau._ There was a good crowd here tonight. Despite the murders, people were still going out.

_I wonder if the war has anything to do with it. People are refusing to stay home because of a killer when so many are dying, anyway._

He hung his coat up on the rack, taking a seat at the bar. _“Gudenhaben, Frau_ Schindler.”

“Ah, Detective Kringle. Still on duty?”

“Actually, no. So could you get me a beer, _bitte?”_

“With pleasure.” Hilda drew the beer on tap and set the mug before him.

“How about a refill, Beautiful?” asked a uniformed man sitting at the end of the bar.

“Coming, Wilhelm.”

Marcus realized that the man was the _Kommandant_ of _Stalag 13._ The man shamelessly flirted with Hilda, who enjoyed his attentions. She was certainly a handsome-looking woman, around forty, he would guess. She was blond and had a good figure. A man could do a lot worse.

From what Hogan had told him, Klink was harmless. As long as Hilda had no objections to his flirting, he would leave them alone.

“So nice to see you, Wilhelm.”

“Ah, Hilda, I have thought of you all day!”

“Oh, are you the charmer, _ja?”_

Klink puffed up like a peacock. Marcus took a sip of his beer. He could see how vain and silly Klink was, just as Karl had indicated. Little wonder that Hogan and his men could run their complex operation from _Stalag 13._

Klink was bad at flirting. Why Hilda put up with it was a mystery, but maybe she was a soft touch when it came to men.

The bells above the door jingled and Johann sauntered in. Marcus moved to a table in the corner and signalled for beers. Johann took the empty chair.

“How did it go with the Muellers?”

Johann sighed. “As you might expect. Hans Mueller was shaken up by finding the body. So was his wife.”

“What about the son?”

Hilda arrived with the beers and they smiled at her. Once she was gone Johann spoke.

“Peter is still in mourning. He is blaming himself for letting Helga walk home alone that night.”

Marcus sighed. “Can you blame him?”

“No.” Johann slumped in his chair. “Do we have any progress to speak of, Marcus?”

“Not a lot.” Marcus rubbed his eyes. “We still have to check out watchmakers.”

“All right. Guess we have to get busy tomorrow.” A high-pitched cackle pierced the general laughter of the crowd. Johann looked over at the bar. “Who’s that?”

“The _Kommandant_ of Stalag 13, Colonel Wilhelm Klink.”

Johann snorted. _“This_ is a camp _kommandant?”_

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?”

“Hmph, _Frau_ Schindler must be hard up.”

Marcus chuckled. “You may be right.” He sipped his beer. “Hmm, trouble in paradise.”

Johann looked over at the bar. “He must have said something to set her off.”

Hilda looked cross as she ignored Klink’s entreaties. Maybe she would give the silly fool the boot, Marcus pondered. He turned his attention back to Johann to discuss the case.

& & & & & &

The next morning, Johann called from Heidelberg to eagerly inform Marcus that he had found Otto Strauss’s shop. Even though Strauss had retired in 1924, his nephew had taken over and kept his uncle’s records. 

_“And on August 1, 1914, a **Herr** Martin Burger had bought this particular watch, courtesy of the serial number.”_

“Good news.”

_“Marcus, is something wrong?”_

“There’s been another murder.”

Johann swore.

“And this time it’s a man.”


	8. The Garden Of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus interviews a witness from 1914 and learns some interesting facts.

  
_That last summer_   
_Before the War,_   
_Rested my soul,_   
_Before it rested_   
_For good._   


  


**Sergeant Axel Morganschein**   
**"Poems From The Trenches"**   
**1916 C.E.**

The body of the young man had been found in the alley behind the _Grand Arms Hotel._ The victim was blond, blue-eyed and strangled with a red ribbon pinned to his chest. Marcus sighed. Once the police photographer had finished taking pictures, he said, “Take the body to the morgue, boys.”

He went back to the precinct while his men interviewed people in the hotel. He received Johann’s phone call and told him the grim news.

“Listen, do not come back to Hammelburg. Go over to the university and find out all you can about _Herr_ Martin Burger.”

_“Right. A pity we cannot interview his aunt and uncle.”_

Frieda Marx had died in 1933. “We might be able to interview Oskar Marx. He is over his recent illness. I am going over to see him now.”

_“All right. I will call you tonight when I am through for the day.”_

Marcus said goodbye and hung up his desk phone. He would get a report from the medical examiner after he was through with the autopsy, so he grabbed his notebook and left the precinct, jumping in his car and heading for the _Edelweiss Rest Home._

The rest home was located twenty minutes outside of Hammelburg. Ten more minutes and he could drive through the gates of _Stalag 13,_ Marcus thought wryly. He was very familiar with the area. 

He parked his car and walked through the front doors, stopping at the Reception Desk. A blond young woman greeted him with a polite smile. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I am here to see Oskar Marx.”

“Ah, _gut._ He is in the Garden of Peace. Just go down this hall and you will see the door to the garden.” 

_“Danke, Fraulein.”_

Marcus walked down the corridor and saw a set of glass doors leading to the garden. Today was unseasonably warm, and Marcus could understand why a recently-bedridden man would want fresh air.

He spotted the lone resident in a wheelchair sitting by a fountain that was shut off for the winter. He approached, making some noise so as not to startle the old man.

Oskar Marx looked up at Marcus’ approach. He still had a full head of white hair, and his skin was only a little wrinkled. Frail and hunched over, his hands shook slightly as he adjusted the blanket over his thin shoulders.

 _“Herr_ Marx?”

_“Ja?”_

“I am Detective Marcus Kringle. I would like to ask you a few questions, sir.”

“About 1914.”

Surprised, Marcus nodded, _“Ja,_ sir.”

Oskar waved his visitor to the stone bench next to his wheelchair. Marcus sat down and Oskar drawled, “The cherub’s water has been cut off.”

For a moment Marcus thought that Oskar’s mind was wandering, then he realized that the old man meant the fountain.

 _“Ja,_ he will have to wait until spring for his drink.”

Oskar chuckled. _“Ja, ja._ Now, what about 1914 do you wish to know? I read the papers so expected a visit from the police. Happily not the Gestapo.”

 _“Nein,_ not the Gestapo.” Marcus smiled. “Well, sir, your niece Gertrude Axel was seeing a variety of young men that summer, keeping them on the string, so to speak?” Oskar smiled briefly. “Do you recall any of their names?” 

Oskar folded his hands in his blanketed lap. “I recall some, but I am sure I did not know them all.”

Marcus waited patiently. The subject was understandably painful for the old man.

“Well, let me see…” Oskar stroked his chin. “ He rattled off a list of names, Marcus quickly writing them down in his notebook. He paused as one name glared out at him.

“Excuse me, _Herr_ Marx, did you say Martin Burger?”

 _“Ja._ He is the big cheese now, but back then, he was just a student trying to go out with Gertrude.”

“Was his family not influential back then?”

“Pah!” Oskar waved his hand. “He tried to act big, but that meant nothing to Gertrude.”

“Really?”

 _“Ja._ She thought him foolish and made fun of him more than once.”

“I doubt he liked that.”

“Ha, he did _not.”_ Oskar smiled gleefully, then the smile faded. “Poor Gertrude. She was just a pretty girl enjoying the flirting game before settling down as a _hausfrau._ When she was murdered, my Frieda never got over it. She loved her niece like a daughter.” His hand trembled harder as he wiped his eyes. “So did I.”

Marcus allowed him a moment to gather himself. Oskar lifted his head almost defiantly.

“Martin Burger thought he owned the world. He pestered Gertrude all summer.”

“Did she feel uncomfortable?”

“At first she laughed, then she grew cross with his unwanted attentions.”

“Did he continue to bother her?”

 _“Ja,_ and one other suitor. I do not recall if she ever said his name. _Ach,_ young people! Some cannot take their lumps.”

Marcus privately agreed. How many young men got into trouble harassing women?

“And Burger did not stop the harassment?”

 _“Nein._ But Gertrude had many other suitors. I think one of them confronted him, by name of…” Oskar thought hard “…Gunther Strong, that was it.”

Marcus paused, then wrote the name down. “Did Martin Burger express any condolences to you and your wife?”

“Yes, the _schwein.”_

Marcus took a card out of his coat pocket. “If you remember the name of the other bothersome suitor, or anything, really, about that summer, give me a call.”

 _“Ja,_ I will.” Oskar pocketed the card. “Funny how things stand out from that summer, even before Gertrude was killed. I suppose it was because it was the last summer we had before the Great War started. We knew it was coming after Ferdinand was assassinated, but there was hope…” He shrugged. “Detective, do you think that Burger is your man?”

“We are gathering evidence, _Herr_ Marx.”

Oskar smiled briefly at Marcus’ parry. “I would not be surprised if it turned out to be him. Entitled young _schwein_ are still _schwein.”_

Marcus silently agreed. He put away his notebook.

 _“Danke, Herr_ Marx. You have been most helpful.” 

“I hope so, Detective.” Oskar sighed. “It is so peaceful here.”

_“Ja.”_

Marcus thought about the irony of a Garden of Peace in a country so eager to make war. The beauty of Germany was always obscured by the clank of jackboots and the smoke of cannon. Since the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, his beloved country had been the aggressor. He feared this current war was the worst of a bad bunch.

He rose from the cold stone bench. Gray clouds were gathering and the wind was whipping through the trees.

“Would you like a ride indoors, sir?”

Oskar pulled his shawl tighter around his shoulders. _“Ja,_ I would. _Danke.”_

Marcus pushed the old man’s wheelchair out of the garden and into the warm building.

 _“Danke,_ young man. I can take it from here.” Oskar held out his hand and they shook hands. “Find this killer.”

“I will do my very best, sir.” He watched the old man wheel himself down the corridor.

Marcus felt a little thrill of excitement as he nodded to the receptionist and went out into the cold winter air. Things were looking up. He pulled up the collar of his coat.

The man who had confronted Martin Burger in 1914, Gunther Strong, had been one of the victims of the Hammelburg Strangler discovered that summer.

Time to wrap up the case against Martin Burger.


	9. Dinner At Klink's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dinner in Klink’s quarters ends unexpectedly.

_"When you’re enjoying a good meal, someone invariably drops a bomb."_

  


**George "Matches" Macklin**   
**Columnist**   
**_The Boston Lantern_**   
**1938 C.E.**

“So what’s on the menu for Klink’s dinner tonight, LeBeau?” asked Hogan as he looked at his reflection in the mirror over the barracks sink.

“Oh, some _vichysoisse,_ beef _bourguignon,_ green beans _almondine,_ and mashed turnips with butter.” LeBeau stirred the pot of stew on the stove for their lunch.

“All very French except for the mashed turnips?”

“It’s what I could get in town. Don’t worry, the turnips taste great, especially with melted butter.”

“Okay, no funny business with the meal. Remember, I’m one of the diners this time.”

“Klink’s really bucking for that general’s stripe.” Kinch laid out a card as he played solitaire.

“Yeah, and he thinks Martin Burger is his golden ticket,” said Newkirk as he blew a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Both men were sitting at the common table while Carter darned a sock at his bunk.

“Well, Klink having Burger to dinner again helps us. Maybe I can get a clue as to what he’s up to at his factory in Rindelsgard.” Hogan smoothed his hair.

“Must be important stuff if he’s hanging around this burg.” Newkirk tapped a card but Kinch ignored him.

“Top secret, indeedy.” Hogan poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the stove. “Good thing Klink’s got a decent wine cellar.” He sat down at the table.

“For you to loosen Burger’s tongue?” asked Kinch with a smile.

“Both.” Hogan closed his eyes. “I just got hit with this tremendous craving for a hamburger.”

“Me, too.” Kinch grinned.

“A hamburger? _Americans!”_ LeBeau brandished his spoon at Kinch and Hogan. “You would prefer a piece of ground beef between two pieces of bread to my beef _bourguignon?”_

Kinch said, “Yeah, but a burger covered with lettuce, tomatoes…”

“…mustard and onions,” Hogan continued as he opened his eyes.

“Red onions.”

“And mustard!” Carter chimed in.

“Pickles. Must have pickles,” Hogan declared. 

“All with a side of fries. French, of course,” Kinch said as he smiled at a fuming LeBeau. “With a healthy dose of ketchup.”

“And if you’re eating Canadian-style, vinegar for those fries,” Hogan supplied.

“Argh!”

The men of Barracks 2 laughed at LeBeau’s outrage.

& & & & & &

Hogan sipped the wine that Newkirk had just poured into his glass. The meal had been up to LeBeau’s usual high standards. He was looking forward to dessert.

Martin Burger had been a pleasant dinner guest, and his girlfriend Anna Braun was even more pleasant in manner and looks. Klink kept clumsily dropping hints about Burger putting in a good word to the _Fuehrer_ for him to the point where embarrassment warred with pity in Hogan’s perception. Some people simply were socially awkward, he thought. He was grateful that after his adolescent years, he had not suffered from such an affliction.

“Another excellent dinner, Klink,” said Burger. “Anna dear, you must get the recipes.”

She laughed. “For our cook, _ja?”_ She smiled at Hogan. “I have no cooking ability whatsoever.”

_Honey, you don’t need it._

Hogan smiled pleasantly. Anna Braun was a beautiful woman, and he was happy to share the meal with her.

Newkirk brought out dessert, and Hogan enjoyed the chocolate cake. His sweet tooth silently thanked LeBeau.

The telephone rang and Schultz came out of the kitchen to answer it. _“Kommandant_ Klink’s quarters. _Ja.”_ Schultz turned to Klink. _“Kommandant,_ Corporal Langenscheidt wishes to speak to you.”

“Excuse me.” Klink rose from the table and took the phone from Schultz. “Colonel Klink here. What is it, Corporal?” His eyes widened.

Hogan marveled at the ability of the _Kommandant_ to keep his monocle from falling out.

 _“Herr_ Burger, what do you think of American factory production?” Hogan’s curiosity was genuine. It was always enlightening to see how others saw his country. 

“I see it as quite efficient, Colonel.” Burger put his fork down. “Your Henry Ford, for example, mastered the art of the assembly line and became rich. Little wonder that his factory could convert to aircraft bombers.”

“True.” Hogan took another bite of cake.

“Of course, once we conquer America, it will be even more efficient.”

Hogan kept a polite smile on his face. _Never let them see how rankled you are._ He sipped his wine.

“You might find Americans to be a bit more rebellious than your average German. We aren’t much for dictatorial authority.”

Burger smiled. “Yet your people have fallen into line with the Roosevelt war machine.”

“Well, yeah, after Pearl Harbor our people were galvanized. By the way, thank your buddy Hitler for declaring war on us so quickly. Our people wanted revenge on the Japanese and would have ignored Germany until it was too late. Presto, the _Fuehrer_ did the job for FDR, solving his dilemma of how to get the American people to focus on Germany after December 7th.”

Burger’s smile was strained. “Perhaps you think it is a mistake, Colonel Hogan, but we Germans are not afraid of a fight.”

“Neither are we, _Herr_ Burger, but we prefer to be smart about how many countries we take on at one time.”

“You are fighting a two-front war, just as we are.” Burger sounded huffy.

“Yes, but it was thrust upon us. Still, maybe it’s for the best. We will end this war.” 

“All by yourselves?”

“With our allies.” Hogan sipped his wine again. “Considering you’ve started the last two world wars, it’s the least we can do.”

Burger was about to retort when Klink came back to the table. “Most unusual.”

“What, Colonel?” asked Anna as she tried to defuse the situation.

“The front gate reports that Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo drove into camp.”

“That’s not so unusual, sir,” said Hogan. _Unfortunately._

“But he was followed by the local police.”

“Hmm, well, I guess we’ll find out any minute.”

Hogan’s prediction came true as thirty seconds later, Hochstetter burst into Klink’s quarters. The Gestapo did not believe in knocking, Hogan thought wryly. He drank more wine, trying to keep his nerves steady.

“Major Hochstetter, how may I help you?” Klink asked nervously as he stood.

“Well, Klink…”

Hochstetter stopped as Marcus Kringle and Johann Schingelheimer entered the room. Marcus nodded to Klink, not even giving Hochstetter a glance.

 _Cool customer, or maybe they already exchanged words outside._ Hogan put down his glass.

“Pardon for interrupting your dinner, _Kommandant._ My partner and I need to speak to _Herr_ Burger.” Marcus spoke pleasantly but firmly.

Burger tossed his napkin on the table. “What is this, Detective?”

“You need to come with us, _Herr_ Burger.”

“Why? I have answered your questions.”

 _“Now,_ sir.”

Burger looked defiant but obeyed. Hochstetter asked Marcus, “Mind if I come along?”

“Not at all, Major.”

Hogan rather doubted that but Marcus did not have much of a choice. The policemen hustled Burger out of the room, followed by Hochstetter, leaving a stunned silence in their wake.

“Well,” Klink said awkwardly. “Should I have one of my men drive you home, _Fraulein_ Braun?”

Anna had been in shock, but now she shook her head. “I have a driver, _danke,_ Colonel. In fact, I think I should go. _Danke_ for dinner.”

“Yes, of course.”

Hogan and Klink rose as Anna stood. She looked around in a distracted manner and Schultz quickly brought over her coat.

 _“Danke,_ Sergeant.” She allowed him to help her put her coat on. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

The men responded in kind and Klink escorted her out.

“Well, looks like the police might have found the Hammelburg Strangler.” Hogan finished his wine.

“You think so?” Schultz held out a glass as Newkirk poured wine for him and Hogan. 

“That’s their biggest priority right now.”

“Creepy to think Helga’s killer was sittin’ right here at table.” Newkirk swigged down his wine after pouring himself a generous amount. “Guess ol’ Klink’ll have to find another ‘itler crony to butter up.”

“Hey, where is everybody?” LeBeau asked as he came in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

“The Hammelburg police just ‘auled off Mr. Hamburger, mate.”

“Huh.” LeBeau poured himself a glass of wine after Newkirk handed him the bottle. “For the Strangler?”

“Could be.” Hogan polished off his wine and put his empty glass down. “Let’s clean up, fellas. This evening’s done.”

For Hogan and his men, it was done. For the men of the Hammelburg Police Department and Martin Burger, it was just beginning.


	10. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marcus interrogates Martin Burger.

_“Police work is essentially cat-and-mouse.”_

  


**Detective John Reagan**  
**Boston Police Department**  
**1910 C.E.**

The interrogation room at the Hammelburg Police Station consisted of a scarred wooden table with a cheap plastic ashtray, three wooden chairs, a bare lightbulb and a small window set in the steel door. The walls were olive-gray institutional drab, and it still looked better than a similar Gestapo room, Marcus guessed.

Martin Burger was hustled into the room and sat down in the chair designated for those being grilled. The chair wobbled.

“All right, _Herr_ Burger, let us begin,” said Marcus. He and Johann rolled up their sleeves. Hochstetter stood in the corner, quietly smoking a cigarette. Marcus disliked his presence but was not about to tangle with a Gestapo officer. Let him watch. Maybe he would learn something. “So, Herr Burger, where were you on the night of the 16th?” 

“Were was I? At the hotel.”

“And did you see Heinrich Merkel?”

“Never heard of him.” Burger’s coat was in the outer office. He leaned back in the creaky chair and looked dapper in his expensive suit.

“He was the young man found in the alley behind your hotel, a victim of the Strangler.”

“I never met him.”

“He was the boyfriend of Maidie Stein, the only woman to escape the Strangler, courtesy of a Good Samaritan.”

“A shame.” Burger’s tone was bored.

Marcus took an object out of his pants pocket and laid it on the table. “Do you recognize this?”

The gold watch sparkled under the harsh glare of the lightbulb. Marcus saw a flicker in Burger’s eyes.

_“Nein.”_

“Funny, because this watch was sold to you in 1914, courtesy of _Herr_ Otto Strauss in Heidelberg.”

“Let me examine it more closely.” Burger picked up the watch. _“Ja,_ it is mine. I have been looking for it. Where did you find it?”

“At the scene of _Fraulein_ Stein’s attack.”

“The Strangler must have picked it up somewhere. I told you, my watch has been missing.” Burger waved his hand dismissively.

“When was the last time you remember having it?” Johann asked.

“I an not sure, maybe my first dinner at Stalag 13? I remember putting it on while I was dressing at the hotel.”

“And you do not remember seeing it after that?”

_“Nein.”_

“Are you in the habit of walking in the woods around _Hilda’s Hofbrau?”_ Marcus asked.

 _“Nein,_ I do not even know where _Hilda’s Hofbrau_ is.”

“Quite a coincidence that you lose your watch and the Strangler picks it up, only to lose it at the site of an attempted murder.”

 _“Ja,_ a coincidence.” Burger tapped his fingers on the table as the chair wobbled annoyingly.

Marcus and Johann were seated opposite Burger. Hochstetter remained in the corner, the glow of his cigarette the only indication that he was still there. Marcus was grateful that he was staying out of the way.

“How is your relationship with _Fraulein_ Braun?” asked Marcus.

“What?” Burger blinked in confusion.

“Do you get along well with her?”

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Just answer the question, _bitte.”_

Burger glared but said, “I get along well with her.”

“So you get along with women in general?”

“I would say so.”

“Does that include Gertrude Axel?”

“Who…?” Suddenly Burger remembered and his anger crackled. “What about Gertrude?”

“You had a relationship with her in 1914, but she grew tired of your possessiveness, so she cut you dead. You did not like that.”

“She was a flirt, but still worth my time.”

“But she did not consider you worth _her_ time.”

Burger’s tapping fingers curled up into a fist. “Gertrude was a spoiled young lady. She liked to dangle her suitors.” 

“And you disliked that game,” Johann said.

“Of course, what man would not?” He tried to steady the chair. His tone was thick with annoyance.

Marcus lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke toward Burger. “You were confronted.”

“By Gertrude? She…”

“By Gunther Strong.”

Burger stopped talking. He leaned back as if relaxed, but Marcus saw the tension in his hands. They were resting on the table but knotted. Burger could act calm, but he could not quite hide his anxiety.

“Gunther confronted you about Gertrude, and he wound up dead by the Strangler’s hand.”

“So? Just because a victim of the Strangler spoke to me proves nothing.”

Marcus blew out another ring of smoke while Johann said, “You were here in Hammelburg during the summer of 1914, when the Strangler went on his first rampage. You come back to this town and guess what? The murders start up again. How do you explain that?”

Burger shrugged. “I do not have to explain it; _you_ do.”

“You have not been keeping up with German law lately, have you?” Johann asked in amusement.

Anger sparked in Burger’s eyes. “This is a joke. I demand to be released!” 

Marcus’ eyes narrowed. “You are not in a position to give orders, _Herr_ Burger.”

“I will speak to the _Fuehrer!”_

Marcus shrugged. “You may do that, but the _Fuehrer_ prefers scandal not to touch his inner circle.” The detective’s diffident tone grew hard. “Now, _Herr_ Burger, let us get down to brass tacks. You were present in Hammelburg in 1914. You knew two of the victims, Gertrude Axel and Gunther Strong. You harassed Gertrude Axel until she told you to get lost, and you did not like that. Gunther Strong, one of Gertrude’s suitors, confronted you about her. They both ended up dead soon after.”

Burger looked increasingly uncomfortable during this recitation. Marcus continued relentlessly.

“You show up in town 29 years later and the killings begin again. Your watch was found at the scene of one attempted strangling. We have also found out that you were unaccounted for during the time of at least two murders. Now tell me, Herr Burger, what should we think about this, hmm?”

Burger was still calm, but Marcus had seen a flicker of fear in the brown eyes. He slowly blew out a ring of smoke.

“None of this proves anything!” Burger crossed his arms. He swore under his breath as the chair wobbled again.

“I disagree.” Marcus tapped his cigarette into the cheap ashtray. “You cannot account for your whereabouts during the murders. Your watch was found after an aborted strangulation at the very scene. Your actions in 1914…well, let us just say they paint you in a very bad light.” Repeating the case against a suspect usually worked. Relentless repetition made them feel trapped and nervous. “You are the Hammelburg Strangler!”

“I am _not!”_

“We shall see. Detective, book _Herr_ Burger.”

“You will regret this,” snarled Burger as Johann escorted him out.

After their departure Hochstetter said, “Interesting interrogation techniques, Detective.”

_No doubt you would have gotten a confession with a hot poker and thumbscrews._

“Thank you, Major.”

The Gestapo officer stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “You have a case, but you have no witnesses or fingerprint evidence. Do you think you can get a conviction?” 

Marcus smiled. “In today’s _Reich? Ja,_ I do.”

He stood up and stretched. As he turned toward the door, Hochstetter spoke again.

“He really _is_ close to the _Fuehrer,_ you know.”

Marcus answered, “And he hates scandal.”

Marcus walked out of the interrogation room while Hochstetter shook his head, following his colleague out.


	11. Wind's Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disturbing news causes problems for Hogan’s mission to Hammelburg.

  
_The wind_   
_Whispers_   
_Through the trees,_   
_Sibilant_   
_And sad._   


  


**Sir Albert Carruthers-Simpson**   
**"Thoughts While Tramping**   
**Through The English Countryside**   
**And Other Poetic Endeavors"**   
**1911 C.E.**

“Looks like our guys on the Hammelburg Police force are on the ball,” Hogan said as he read the message that Kinch handed him. The radioman accepted a cup of coffee from LeBeau and sat down at the common table.

“What’s up, _Colonel?”_ asked the Frenchman.

“Seems that Martin Burger has been charged as the Hammelburg Strangler.”

“Bon. Helga and the others can rest in peace.”

“Do you think he’s guilty, Colonel?” Kinch asked.

“I don’t know all the particulars, but he was around during the first wave of murders 29 years ago, and that watch I found is probably his. It was pretty expensive.”

“Besides, wot difference does it make? In Germany these days, everyone’s guilty.” Newkirk took a drag on his cigarette.

“True.” Hogan crumpled up the paper. “Did the Underground confirm my meeting with Leisl?”

“Yes, sir, tomorrow night at five o’clock at Ada’s Place.”

“Good.” Hogan threw the paper into the stove and LeBeau shut the door. “I just wish we could’ve found out his Top-Secret business.”

“Leisl might have that information.” Kinch sipped his coffee.

“I hope so, because whether or not Burger is guilty, his mission for the _Fuehrer_ continues.”

& & & & & &

The rest of the day was uneventful, and the next morning the weather was good enough to set up the volleyball nets outside several barracks. Hogan took a turn in the game and when he rotated out, he stood watching the game next to Schultz.

“What’s the good word in town, Schultz?”

 _“Ach,_ relief was short-lived.”

“How so?” Hogan caught the wayward ball and threw it back into play.

“The big shot they arrested as the Strangler escaped from jail.”

“Wow.” Hogan was genuinely surprised. “Not much security at the Hammelburg jail?”

Schultz lowered his voice. “Rumor has it that the _Fuehrer_ might have sent men to get his good buddy out.” The big sergeant looked around as if the Gestapo was listening. “Personally, I think the big shot bribed the guards.” 

Hogan smiled. “Not much faith in your fellow guards, Schultz?”

Schultz looked indignant. “On the contrary, Colonel, I have complete faith in my fellow guards to know a good thing when they see it!”

Hogan laughed. “Guess you’re right. I suppose Burger’s long gone from here.”

“Let us hope so! Though people are still nervous.”

& & & & & &

Hogan relayed the news to his men after the games were over and the nets rolled up and stored away. They were preparing lunch as their appetites had been stoked by all the exercise. 

“Sounds fishy to me all right,” Newkirk said as he set out plates.

“In Germany today, gentlemen, justice is highly subjective. Guilty or not, Hitler didn’t want a messy trial.” Hogan sat down at the common table.

“Be extra careful tonight, Colonel. The local police will be out looking for Burger, even if it’s just a show,” Kinch said.

“Don’t worry, Kinch. I’ll be super careful.”

& & & & & &

Later that night as Hogan prepared to leave, Kinch repeated his concerns from his seat at the radio station.

“Be careful, Colonel.”

Hogan turned up the collar of his black greatcoat with a smile. “Don’t worry, Kinch. What I said earlier goes.”

“Okay.” Kinch smiled. “Good luck.”

“I’m Irish, me boyo. I always have a bit o’ luck in me pocket!” Hogan began climbing the ladder to the secret tunnel entrance.

“And more than a bit o’ blarney!” Kinch called up after him and was rewarded by laughter floating down.

& & & & & &

Hogan walked briskly to town, not wanting to stay out long in the cold. Also, if he was honest with himself, he was a little nervous. Sure, Burger was probably long gone, but what if he was innocent? That meant the real Strangler could be around.

The wind blew through the trees, sounding mournful to Hogan’s ears. He shivered and increased his pace. He was reminded of the night that he had thwarted the Strangler from claiming his latest victim. He listened hard, but chided himself to stop being so jittery. He had faced psychopathic Gestapo and S.S. and angry generals. He could take care of one man.

Hogan entered Hammelburg as the wind skittered down the streets and he headed to the café.

& & & & & &

Marcus wondered if he ought to be furious or too weary to care. Their prisoner had escaped, and he was sure that Burger was the Strangler. What a fine kettle of fish!

“Marcus?”

Marcus turned around to see Johann looking at him with concern. “Sorry, Johann, just woolgathering.”

Johann smiled. “Understandable.” His smile faded. “So what do we do now?”

“Well, we have our skeleton staff out there now beating the bushes, but Burger is long gone, I would say.”

Johann bit his lip. “What if Martin Burger is not the Hammelburg Strangler?”

Marcus’ expression was grim. “Then we are back to Square One.”

& & & & & &

_Ada’s Place_ was a small, intimate café that Leisl favored. Hogan would have preferred a larger venue like _Hilda’s Hofbrau_ with its music and noise, but at least the coffee here was excellent and so was the food. He ordered a cup of steaming-hot coffee to drink while waiting for Leisl.

The café was cheerfully decorated in bright colors, and the waitresses wore traditional German costumes complete with flowers and streamers in their hair.

There was a lot to admire about German culture, Hogan mused as he sipped his coffee. Germans were pioneers in psychiatry and sexual studies, and their universities were world-famous. Great musicians, actors and films had all come out of Germany.

_Unfortunately, there’s a darker side to their culture._

He observed the patrons of the café. They looked like ordinary people, but no doubt some of them had friends and relatives in the S.S. or were guards at concentration camps. There were disturbing rumors about those camps that he hoped were empty propaganda like in the last war.

There were Germans able to resist the lure of Nazism, of course. He worked with them in the Underground.

He glanced at his watch. 5:21. Leisl was late.

_Well, there could be valid reasons for that. A neighbor stopped her to talk and she can’t raise suspicion by running off, or she thinks she’s being followed and is trying to shake the mook, or who knows?_

Hogan continued to sip his coffee. Agents were usually punctual but things could happen. At any rate, late agents made him nervous.

By 5:45 he called for the check and departed _Ada’s Place._ He knew where Leisl lived. She fit the Strangler’s profile: she was blond, blue-eyed and in her early twenties. He kept an eye out for the Gestapo and walked briskly to Leisl’s apartment house.

Once at the red brick apartment house he went into the vestibule and pressed the door buzzer marked _204—L. Franz._ No answer. He tried again.

An old woman let herself in and Hogan followed her. She shuffled along to a room on the first floor, apparently unaware of his presence. Grateful for his good fortune, Hogan quickly bounded up the staircase to the second floor.

He found Room 204 and listened at the door but heard nothing. He was going to knock when he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. With trepidation he pushed it open.

The living room was dark as the blinds had been shut at the windows. It still got dark early so the drawn blinds were not unusual. Hogan waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom.

“Leisl?” he called softly.

In that moment, he saw her. “Oh, Leisl,” he said sadly and knelt by her body that lay next to the couch. He could dimly see the bruises on her throat and a red ribbon pinned to her blouse. He brushed the hair back from her brow. “Sorry, honey,” he murmured.

He heard a movement: so soft, it only registered on the edges of his consciousness, but he knew. Heart pounding, he began to turn but cried out as something long and thin was flung around his neck and tightened. He fought but his lungs felt as if they were going to explode. 

The gloved hands applying pressure to his neck were steel-hard. He choked and coughed and tried to kick back, but the Strangler was incredibly strong. Pinpoints of light danced before Hogan’s eyes as it became harder to breath.

_**No!** It **can’t** end like this. I’ve got too much left to do…_

A strange calm settled over him as his lungs felt on fire. His arms were rubbery as they fell away and his legs became boneless. He slid to the floor and the darkness closed in on him as the world slipped away softly.


	12. "She Wore A Red Ribbon..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hammelburg Strangler says his farewells.

  
_Pin a red ribbon_   
_In her hair,_   
_And never take no_   
_For an answer._   


  


**Heinrich Gruber**   
**"The Adventures Of**   
**Little Hansie"**   
**1888 C.E.**

Strong fingers of one hand smoothed dark hair as a red ribbon was pinned to Hogan’s shirt. The Strangler sat in a chair and crossed his legs.

“Tsk, tsk, if you had just waited five more minutes, Colonel, I would have been gone. I dislike extra disposal, but sometimes it is necessary.” He sighed. “Of course, this presents a complication, but I can figure it out. Practice makes perfect.” He laughed, the sound slightly raspy.

He shifted in his chair. “Back in 1914, I was humiliated by a girl I liked very much. I had to do something about it. The rage…it boiled up in me…I _had_ to take care of it. So I did.”

His voice was calm, almost toneless. “My family has always had an eminent history. That is pressure on an eldest son, eh?” The noise of a match being struck sounded loud in the silent room. “My father expected much from me. We have a grand German tradition. Sometimes it is difficult to live up to.”

The glow of a cigarette pierced the darkness. The Strangler’s tone turned conversational.

“I suppose I should be amused by your American arrogance. You really _did_ think that your fellow compatriots would end this war. I know about our munitions capacity. Very well, of course. Burger Industries is an old, family firm.”

The embers of the cigarette glowed as ashes fell to the carpet.

“That summer was the beginning. Every time I felt the urge, I struck. Terrible to keep things bottled up. The psychiatrists say it is healthier to let it out. I agree. Let it out. It overcomes me, and I seek a way to let it out. Then I am all right again.” The voice was silky smooth. He waved the cigarette around, tiny stars sparkling in the darkness.

“My occupation allows me freedom of movement. Over the years I have traveled through Bavaria, Prussia, and throughout all of Germany and parts of Poland. Auschwitz is a nice little town. I hear rumors about what the camp is about on the outskirts. Very efficient, we Germans.” He exhaled, smoke curling up towards the ceiling. “There have been other girls, sometimes an auxiliary or two. The men, who grew too nosy. It depended on circumstances, of course, but Detective Marcus Kringle and his colleagues would realize that I have preyed throughout the country.” A dry chuckle bounced off the walls. “The dear Hammelburg police. So earnest, so dedicated, blustering their way through this case. And now here am I on the loose again!” The laughter was maniacal. 

“Ah, such amusement.” The Strangler wiped his eyes. “And here they are, running around again. I suppose I shall have to move on. A pity. I have always liked these hunting grounds. Their familiarity makes it all easier as I slip through alleys and walk the streets.”

From the alley a cat mewled, stopping the Strangler’s recitation. His muscles went rigid as the cat howled again, only relaxing after the animal stopped.

“Cats. Truly loathsome creatures. I practiced on them, you know. The less cats in the world, the better, in my humble opinion.

“Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the Hammelburg police. As I said, earnest and dedicated men. Certainly less annoying than Hochstetter and that crowd. He hangs around like a vulture, waiting to pick your bones! I make my kill and leave. I do not _hover._ Well, except for tonight. Your American arrogance inspires me, Colonel.” He chuckled. “My cover has always been perfect. No one ever suspects a respectable German. Especially one who serves the Fatherland in my capacity, though the things I could tell you!” His eyes glowed in the light of the cigarette. “It is fascinating to watch people react to what they _think_ you are. Imagine what their faces would look like if they knew the truth!” 

His tone grew contemplative. “The war is a fine cover. It allows me freedom that one cannot get in peacetime, though in Germany, ‘peacetime’ is merely lulls between wars. I have seen two great wars, one a Great War, and despite the uniqueness of each conflict, the basics are always the same.” His voice grew calm with an undercurrent of excitement. “Kill, kill, and more killing. And the police have the nerve to hunt _me_ down while killing is all around us!”

The town clock struck, the melodic chimes bonging six times. The cigarette ashes fell like tiny stars to the rose-patterned carpet. Smoke drifted out lazily as the Strangler blew out.

“Back to Hochstetter. What a loathsome little man. Arrogant, smug, bullying. A man like this is in a position of power! Contemptible. There are times when I have itched to snap the necks of men like him. Generals like Burkhalter and Goering are such fools! Stuffed geese, the lot of them. I would be doing the _Reich_ a favor if I hung them up by their thumbs. To think my brilliance is overshadowed by these fools. Bah!” The Strangler shifted in his chair. “The red ribbons are a brilliant touch, _ja?_ They represent my old school’s Honor Society. They represent accomplishment.” He laughed, a dry, crackling sound. 

The Strangler finished his cigarette and started another. Clouds had moved in outside the window and it began to rain. It drummed on the roof and kept up a steady rhythm. The Strangler listened for awhile, then began to speak again.

“Your arrogance, Colonel Hogan, actually amuses me. You are so sure of yourself. I suppose that is New World thinking. If the Third _Reich_ is defeated, how will your people match up with the barbaric Russians? They are devious, you know. They _live_ for backstabbing and betrayal. Your people’s straightforwardness will match up poorly with the Russians’ Machiavellian maneuvers. They are savages with no sense of honor. You will find that out the first treaty you sign with them.”

The Strangler rose and stretched. He looked around, flexing gloved fingers. He took out a plastic bag and dropped his cigarette butts into it, and stuffed the bag in his jacket pocket. He shrugged on his topcoat and leaned down over Hogan’s body.

“A pity, truly, Colonel. I enjoyed our sparring. You were a formidable foe, but your death means that I will have to move on. My record is no longer perfect, _ja?”_

The Strangler straightened and put on his fedora. He opened the apartment door and Colonel Wilhelm Klink walked down the staircase and out into the stormy night.


End file.
